Swinburne

Everyone who reads should read this guy. What's not to like about a mid-19th century English aristocrat poet who ate roast monkey, got kicked out of Oxford for sodomy and spent the rest of his life writing unequalled lyrics about nothing?

From "The Triumph of Time"

Yea, I know this well, were you once sealed mine,

Mine in the blood's beat, mine in the breath,

Mixed into me as honey in wine,

Not time, that sayeth and gainsayeth,

Nor all strong winds had severed us then;

Nor wrath of gods, nor wisdom of men,

Nor all things earthly, nor all divine,

Nor joy nor sorrow, nor life nor death.